


If I look back I am lost

by VanillaMostly



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Post S8E5, Season 8 Spoilers, kinda my way of dealing with what's happening this season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 16:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaMostly/pseuds/VanillaMostly
Summary: 3 drabbles. Dany, Arya, Jaime.Their thoughts in King's Landing.





	If I look back I am lost

**Author's Note:**

> Show verse with some book references  
> SPOILERS for S8E5.  
> do not own

 

**Dany**

 

She was taking back what was hers, the seat of her fathers. She was the last dragon, the mother of dragons. This was her path, one writ in fire and blood, from the day she walked into that pyre. She was here to take back her _home._

 

Home…

 

If she closed her eyes she might still be able to see it, the house with the red door and the window with the lemon tree, where once a little girl played in summer and song, and her laugh knew of no sorrow, fear, or hate…

 

If she dreamed she might still kiss her sun-and-stars once more, fold into his strong arms, and place his rough warm hands over the swell of her belly, where the promise of their son was still something sweet and real...

 

If she could weep she would cry for Viserys who only wanted a crown; for dear Ser Jorah who only wanted her love; for her poor children who only wanted to fly and breathe and live; for Missandei and Grey Worm who only wanted to grow old together in peace; for all the others who followed her across the narrow sea, for no reason but for blind faith in her victory…

 

But she could not, she must not look back.

 

The past would only break her.

 

She had come so far, and too far. She could not be shaken, she could not regret her choices. She could not give up either. If she lost this, if she lost the throne, if she failed her destiny, she would have nothing. So she must have it _._ No matter the price.

 

 _You knew the price,_ a woman once said to her, long ago. Did I?

 

 

 

 

**Arya**

 

Sandor told her to live, but all she knew was of death.

 

The last time she had been in this city, her father had been sentenced to die, and she had to run so they wouldn’t kill her too. And so began her journey.

 

Death was like a shadow that followed her along the way. Yoren would have taken her home, but he died trying to do so. Jaqen helped her and guided her to Braavos, where she learned to kill and become Death itself, but even he was gone now too. Even the Hound, who she had once hated so fiercely and once tried to kill, was likely dead now in this flaming city. And there were more, more who died for her - Mycah the butcher’s boy, Syrio her dancing master - and even more who died at her hand… Some she killed to survive, some for revenge. Some for less noble reasons.

 

Some old woman from a long time ago had called her a blood child, and said she smelled of death. That wasn't so wrong.  _Valar morghulis._

 

Arya had been prepared for her own death. She thought it a fair trade for the head of the woman who had brought her father’s demise and her family’s ruin. Arya had seen death up close (and those who rose from death too), and she was prepared to end her journey in death, as most fitting.

 

But as it turned out, when she stared death right in the face, she was that Arya Stark catching cats in Flea Bottom again, better at running than killing.

 

When it was all over she coughed and choked on the taste of ashes and dust. She found herself looking around, surrounded by death, smothered by death, yet she was somehow unharmed.

 

When she saw that horse, standing there all alone at the end of the world, it felt like a gift from the gods, sent just for Arya.

 

Now why would the gods do that, she had no idea why. There were a lot of others more pure and pious that they neglected to protect. But Arya found herself walking towards the horse anyway. 

 

Maybe escaping death for the hundredth time was a sign. A sign that she was finally done. Done with killing, and done with dying.

 

Sandor told her to live, and so she will.

 

 

 

**Jaime**

 

He tried not to think of Brienne’s eyes, her astonishing blue eyes, which always failed to hide her emotions. Her grief and her hurt was too plain to see, and the memory of it haunted him the whole ride to King’s Landing.

 

 _That's right, hate me,_ he thought.  _Hate me and hate me until you forget me, Brienne. Give your heart to someone more deserving of it, someone kind, someone brave, like you._

 

He would always be grateful to her. She had reminded him of the boy he had been, the dreams of valor and honor that he had had. What's more, she gave him hope, hope that this boy was still alive in him… That the jaded, disappointing shade of a man he had become was not all there was to Jaime Lannister.

 

But it was time to face who he really was.

 

When he thought of Cersei, he thought of her coldness, her cruelty, her wretchedness. But she was also Cersei, the first person he knew in this life, even before coming into this world.

 

She was his sister. And the mother of his children.

 

He didn't know what he expected. If he rescued Cersei, will they run away and live happily ever after? Will he be a good father to this new child, as he never got to be for Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen? He doubted it.

 

But it didn't matter. He was Jaime the Kingslayer, rash and impulsive, acting on his whims. Tyrion was always the brains of their family; he was the sword.

 

Let him play the dashing knight one last time. 

 

 

 


End file.
